


Trash Talk

by arrow (esteefee)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Post-Series, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-23
Updated: 2011-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 14:22:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/arrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boys will be boys.</p><p> <br/>for "talk" challenge on sentinel_thurs comm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trash Talk

Blair's shot was perfect—pure poetry—until Jim jumped up and smacked it out of the air and out of bounds. Bastard.

"Oh, _ho!_ " Jim trotted off to fetch the ball. "Did somebody call for the 'SWAT' team? 'Cause I think they just arrived."

"Yeah, yeah. Just give me the ball."

"And here you're always trying to get me to talk." Jim smirked and passed Blair the ball.

"Keep talking, then, while I run you into the ground, old man." Blair dribbled fast and low, then shifted right and spun around Jim's bigger bulk and directly into a lay-up. "Oh, yeah! You better get in the paint when you see me coming!"

Jim gave him a grudging nod. "Maybe I didn't want to mess up your pretty new 'do. Now that you're growing it out and all."

Blair faked a pass at Jim's face, making him blink, but not flinch. "I can take it."

"You think so, do you, Sparky?" Jim's grin was wide and toothy.

"I _know_ so." Blair pulse was up. There was something exciting about the challenge in Jim's eyes, and it was more than enough to get Blair jazzed.

"All righty, then. Your outs."

Blair took the ball behind the half-court line, his legs feeling the burn and just a little bit wobbly from adrenaline.

This time he faked twice before the roll, and did a stutter-step he had pure confidence in, knowing he'd never used it on Jim before. Blair then broke for the corner of the key without looking, swinging into pure, low speed, and went up for the shot three steps in—

—and crashed right into a wall. A wall constructed of rock-solid Jim.

The ball went flying. Blair's elbow did, too, knocking Jim somewhere in the head before Blair rebounded off Jim's chest and starting falling backward. If it hadn't been for Jim's hand suddenly clutching the front of his sweatshirt, he would have landed flat on his back. Or maybe his head.

"Whoa, there, Rodman." Jim sounded shaky, but his body was firm as a rock when Blair leaned against him. Blair couldn't reply. All the breath had been knocked out of him on impact.

Jim steadied him, then seemed to pat him down, his hands brushing over Blair's shoulders and chest. After a moment, Blair's brain knocked back into gear and he realized Jim was using his senses. But for a moment, one crazy, beautiful moment, it seemed like Jim was feeling him up. Blair could feel himself flushing, his body following the train of thought.

"You're all right." Jim gave him a last pat, this time on Blair's heated cheek. Then he stopped, a puzzled smile starting.

"You block pretty good, Jim," Blair said hastily, looking up. "For a freakin' _man mountain_."

Jim snickered.

"Oh, laugh it up, big guy. How're you gonna explain that shiner in the bull pen tomorrow?"

Bending his head, smile still in place, Jim said, "I'll just tell 'em my boyfriend is the violent type."

Blair sucked in a breath.

"I'll get loads of sympathy," Jim said airily, then broke away, his eyes not leaving Blair's for a long moment, before he finally turned then trotted off to retrieve the ball.

Blair was left to gape after him, to watch him bend over to pick up the ball, and when Jim had it, turn and then cock his head at the distant basket before letting fly with an impossible shot.

Blair didn't even have to watch to know it sank. "Nothing but net," he whispered.

"Better bring out the marshmallows, 'cause I'm on _fire_ , baby," Jim crowed.

Blair found himself grinning helplessly, and he ran after Jim as he went to fetch the ball. "You got that right," Blair said, softly enough that only a Sentinel's ears could hear, if he were listening.

And when Jim turned, eyes catching his again, Blair knew he was.

  
_End._   



End file.
